Harry Potter and the Path of Ruin
by DarkNashi
Summary: After a hazy incident in a dark alley Harry finds he's not quite himself. However, this shock may be just the thing he needs to set him on the path to defeating Voldemort. Dark!Harry, Vampire!Harry. No pairing yet.
1. Chapter 1

**Harry Potter and the Path of Ruin**

**Disclaimer:** None of the characters are mine. If I do toss an OC in here, I'll let you know. But until further notice, all characters are property of JK Rowling. I'm not making any money at this – non profit. Just posting this for my own amusement – and because Anne Rice won't let me write stories about Louie and Lestat.

**Author's Note**: I keep starting fics and not finishing them. I always know what feel I'm going for, but I never seem to be able to take them right to the end. Hopefully this one will be different. I have a plan for it. I'm rather proud of myself for that. I also have some aspects from my other fic, "The Path of Slytherin" that I'm going to be incorporating here. So, if you used to be a fan of that one, that was me. I'm the author. I'm not stealing from anyone except myself.

I'm going to stop talking now, hope you all enjoy.

**Introduction**

Blood. It was always about blood. Pure blood, half blood, mud blood. Blood of the enemy, forcefully taken. His life revolved around blood. He'd always guarded his blood – terrified for what someone could accomplish with just a few drops of it. He'd watched as people transformed their entire bodies with just a single hair. A drop of blood?

He had witnessed as blood destroyed the most malicious and powerful wards. He'd watched as his own blood resurrected an abomination from beyond the grave. He knew his blood was powerful. Of that there was no doubt. But it was his, and he'd be damned if anyone would take it from him.

He was laying in a pool of it right now. The warm red liquid chilling him as the stiff evening breeze brushed past him, undiscriminating between the weakening man and the stone pavement below. It was cold, but he couldn't shiver. Not anymore. If he started, that was all he would be doing. A trail of warm, cold, and pain flowed from the gaping hole in his neck, blood flowing steadily from it to pool around his limp form.

It was also flowing from the mouth of the man laying in front of him. His blood, was spewing from that other man. He was rolling on his back, claw like nails tearing at his own throat. More blood poured from the mouth like some morbid fountain, pieces of Harry's flesh running from the orifice to the growing pool on the ground. This man flailed, clawing and ripping at his own flesh as if trying to speed up this agonizing process.

"Bastard." Harry coughed weakly, using his undamaged arm to slump himself closer to the dying man. "Filthy son of a bitch." Cussing at this man gave him strength somehow. Hearing his own rage vocalized fueled the adrenaline coursing through his system and into the puddle that surrounded him.

There was nothing more that Harry wanted in this instance than to watch the other man die. That, and to pour his frigid, flowing blood back into his own body where it belonged. Damn him, this blood was his.

The world was spinning around him now, blood spiraling and flowing everywhere. It enveloped him, washed around him and flooded his senses. He was growing weak, so tired – he gave up trying to make sense of the situation he found himself in. He couldn't piece together what was happening within his mind. The pain was gone now, only an aching numbness that consumed him, his fingers, his toes, he couldn't feel them. He couldn't feel anything, he just knew somehow that they were still there.

In this spinning haze, Harry slumped himself forward. The other man was no longer clawing at his neck, one hand still managing some pitiful scratching, the other hand forgotten in the pool of death that surrounded them. He didn't protest when Harry shoved his hand aside, too weak to fight back even if that had been his intention. Harry pressed his lips against this man's flesh, the self inflicted gashes gaping like dumb mouths with ruby lips*, begging him to ease their pain.

Harry complied with this silent request, not noticing as this other man's eyes rolled back in his head or as his chest no longer rose and fell with strangled cries of pain. He didn't notice as life escaped this man for the second time, nor did he give a damn. No, Harry didn't care that his failure of a sire was dead on the ground beneath him. "Just drink, drink. Just drink..." was the mantra thrumming through Harry's mind. "Just drink, drink as much as you can before it goes black..."

*Inspired by Shakespeare's Julius Caesar – Act III, i


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I still don't own Harry Potter, the setting, or any of the characters. Even the name of the hospital isn't mine. Though, I suppose Dr. Robert Spencer belongs to me. Yeah. The Doctor's mine. Everything else belongs to JK Rowling... still.

**Author's Note: **A big thank you to Sheili! She's like, the bestest person ever! And my new beta reader! Yay for Sheili! Just as a side note, the second half of this chapter never made it into her capable hands. I wanted to update more than I wanted to have my commas in the right place (I'm terribad with comma over use). So, if the second half sucks, it's not her fault. I've also edited the end of this chapter three times already (and the story's been up for less than 24 hours). Not changing any content, I just don't like the way it flows. I think I'm finally content with it but if a few words change again... well, you'll know I was up to something. I also expect another edit/update after Sheili yells at me for my grammar. -_-"

Also, if you've read any of my other drabbles you will notice that this is the largest chapter I have ever written. I'm pretty proud of me. ^^ I just really wanted to get the boring mandatory stuff taken care of. Plot will slap you in the face in the next chapter. I promise.

Anyways, without further adieu. I present to you....

* * *

**Chapter 2**

Everything hurt. His entire body was pain. He felt as though he were on fire, drowning in ice, and being eaten alive all at once. He was numb and acutely aware, both at the same time. His head was splitting, his muscles were rotting, his blood was made of acid and his heart was pounding out of his chest. So much pain. The human body wasn't equipped to deal with this. Someone just kill me now! End it! Do something!

Though, as much as Harry wanted to beg someone, anyone, to bring him the sweet release of death the only sound he could produce was a blood churning scream. Was that even his voice? He could barely hear his shouting over the blood pounding in his ears. It was his blood, someone else's blood, everyone's blood just thumping in his head and all around him.

Suddenly, there was something cool on his head. A brief form of relief from the sheer burning he felt all over his body. There must have been someone beside him, though, try as he might, he couldn't bring his eyes into focus past the pain. It was quite literally blinding him.

Time didn't exist for Harry Potter. Just agony. He was vaguely aware of someone else around him, shaking his arm about. Or perhaps he was shaking his own arm. He couldn't tell.

Suddenly, just as quickly as it had begun, the pain ended. Sliding away completely and leaving no trace of its presence.

Harry smiled briefly. Someone had granted his wish.

* * *

Nothing hurt this time as Harry opened his emerald green eyes to the world, except for his poor retinas. The room he was in was blindingly white. Cold, white, and illuminated by the most annoying florescent lights he could have ever imagined. One bulb was flickering on and off with a persistent buzzing sound that made him think of Vernon's old bug zapper in the back yard. Ugh.

Wait, lights?

Harry shook his head slightly to clear his thoughts, not at all thrilled with the wave of nausea that accompanied the gesture. Judging from the availability of the two bedpans at his side, he guessed that this wasn't the first time he'd expelled the contents of his stomach. Oddly enough, nothing came out of his mouth as he leaned over the metal tray. Just a painful fit of dry heaving and a shocking realization at how much his throat hurt. He definitely had been throwing up.

"You've been doing that for some time now." a vaguely familiar voice said from the doorway, confirming his suspicions in regards to his nausea. "I'd offer you some water for your throat, but you haven't been keeping it down well, you can try this if you'd like."

Harry looked at the cup that came into view, brim full of ice cubes. Thank Merlin.

"You'll want to spit them out when they start melting, at least until your stomach settles some." Another cup was presented to Harry, this one empty, which he graciously accepted with a nod of his head.

"I'm Dr. Spencer, do you know where you are?"

Harry waited a moment before answering the man, the cool numbing feeling of the ice cube felt like heaven on the back of his throat. But the doctor was right, just the thought of water making its way into his stomach was utterly revolting. He spit the ice cube into the cup, feeling much better already.

"I'm" Harry coughed slightly. "I'm at the hospital." he replied slowly, testing out his voice. Yes, his throat was feeling positively wonderful after the ice cube. It had worked faster and better than he had expected.

"That's right, you're at the Royal Surrey County Hospital to be precise. You were quite a mess when you got in here young man. Do you remember your name?"

Harry took a moment to look at the doctor standing beside him. He was a younger fellow (as far as young doctors went), with an identification card hanging off the pocket of his pristine white lab coat, Dr. Robert Spencer. The Royal Surrey County Hospital was one he was familiar with. Dudley had been here once or twice for injuries sustained while "Harry hunting". So, he wasn't in the magical world at all. This man was quite obviously a muggle. He wasn't wearing a skirt which was, unfortunately for the magical world, the greatest indicator that he wasn't a wizard in disguise.

Weighing this information briefly, Harry figured it would be alright to share his name. After all, Voldemort wouldn't go looking for him in the non magical world. None of his followers would even know where to begin. "I'm Harry Potter."

"Ah Harry, good." The doctor nodded, he didn't seem to he phased by Harry's slight hesitation, nor did he react oddly to hearing his name. Exhaling softly, Harry relaxed back into his pillow. To this doctor he was just another beat up 16 year old.

"Do you remember what happened to you Harry?"

Oh. Right. Harry blinked for a moment, staring off into space behind the doctor's head. He remembered vaguely, something about blood and a man in an alley. He went to shake his head again, but stopped suddenly as he remembered the wonderful nausea that gesture gave him last time. Instead, he brought his thumb and index finger up to his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. That felt better.

Harry paused suddenly, his body going rigid. Where were his glasses? Why could he see? He forced his body to relax. The last thing he wanted to do was alert this doctor to his distress, though the droning beeping that had persisted throughout their conversation increased it's pace in response to Harry's anxiety. His heartbeat?

Harry cursed himself for letting his mind operate this slowly. He was attacked, he remembered that now. There was a vampire at the park with him and Harry had been bitten. He could see it all clearly now, the blond man's face as he'd lunged for Harry's neck, the look of terror in his eyes as he fell to the floor and clawed the flesh off of his throat. The memory was rather disturbing, especially the part where Harry had put his lips up to the dying vampire's throat and let the cold, dead, blood run into his mouth.

Oddly enough, as disturbing as he found the memory to be, recalling it wasn't causing his sensitive stomach to churn. For that, Harry sent a silent thanks to whichever greater power had blessed him with this small reprieve.

"I was attacked, I think." Harry began, carefully twisting his story around so there were no vampires in it. "I was talking with another man who was also out for a walk and then there were these dogs. They were huge black dogs with amber eyes, I can see them clearly." he continued, giving the doctor the description of Sirius' animagus form. Padfoot had been less than stealthy when he had gone looking for Harry two summers before. Describing the canine menace from a few years ago was bound to give him some credibility.

"They attacked us, lunged for my throat. I tried to fight them off." Harry's eyes snapped up to the doctor's, brim full of false concern. "What of the other man? Is he alright?"

The doctor's face told him what he already knew, and his voice confirmed it. "I'm afraid they didn't reach him in time. You were touch and go yourself for a while. Even now, we've had such a hard time getting your heart to beat."

"Am I going to be okay?" The concern in his eyes wasn't false as he asked this question.

"I think so Harry. Like I said, you weren't doing well when you came in. We had to intubate you to keep you breathing, your body just wasn't doing it on it's own. We also had to defibrillate you once when your heart stopped. You were legally dead for a minute and a half Harry. It's a miracle that you're still with us." Harry's eyes widened slightly at that comment. He had been dead. So, did that mean he was a vampire or not?

"You also received a blood transfusion as there was so much blood loss and you suffered a severe head trauma." Harry nodded slightly, that must have been when his sire knocked him to the ground. He had known that wasn't going to be pretty. "You'll notice when you go to the loo," Dr. Spencer continued "You're missing a good patch of your hair, we had to shave it away to assess the damage and give you stitches on your scalp."

Ugh, muggles were so primitive compared to wizards. Of all the times he had fallen from his broom, thwarted Voldemort, battled dragons and been a stupid teenager, Mme Pomphrey had never removed his hair so she could 'see better'. Raising his hand to his head, Harry's fingers were greeted with a soft prickly feeling instead of the shaggy mess that formerly resided there. He must have been unconscious for some time for his hair to get this long again.

"So, I'm okay now?" Harry asked quietly, trying to sound concerned about himself. He was honestly concerned, which may have helped him seem sincere, however, he was more interested in his status among the living dead opposed to being healthy by muggle standards. He was going to need to get out of here before the hospital discovered that there were other things wrong with him besides his slow heart beat. He had already discovered he didn't need his glasses. His inability to keep water down was likely related to this as well.

"For the most part, I'd like to see that heart rate go up and your body temperature is drastically low. But you're breathing on your own, and your heart is beating. So that's a start." Dr. Spencer stood up from his stool and closed the file that had been on his lap. "I'd like to run some more tests on you and make sure your body's accepting the blood we gave you, as well as make sure your head's healing up alright."

Harry nodded.

"I have a few other patients I need to see to, but a nurse will be in shortly to draw some blood. We'll also need to get in touch with your parents so they can authorize any further procedures. A nurse will be by for this information as well."

Harry nodded again, "Thank you Doctor."

"No no Harry, thank you for staying with us."

* * *

It didn't take the nurse long to rush into Harry's room once he'd pressed the assistance button Dr. Spencer had pointed out to him. He felt kind of bad, causing the nurse to panic and dash to his side, but he didn't know how else to get someone's attention, never mind that he'd been instructed not to leave his bed unassisted.

"Are you okay?" Was the first thing out of the woman's mouth as she screeched to a halt beside Harry's bed, quickly scanning over his vitals. She showed some concern when checking his heartbeat, but she didn't mention it.

"Oh yes," Harry said, propping himself up with his pillow. "I'm sorry to have worried you, I just didn't know how to get anyone's attention without getting up..."

"Oh no dear, that's just fine. This is what the button's for after all." She smiled down at him, relief showing on her face. "What can I help you with?"

"Well," Harry began, an embarrassed flush adorning his cheeks. "I was hoping you could teach me how to work this bed. I seem to be stuck somewhere between sitting up and laying down. It's terribly annoying." Glancing up at the nurse Harry put on his best sheepish smile, which he'd near perfected after years under Hermione's watchful eye.

"Of course sweetheart."

The bed, it turned out, was just as easy to use as Harry expected it to be. Quite honestly, he didn't give a nargle's ass about how the bed worked. But it was an easy ice breaker for the favor he was about to ask. All the bed question did was allow him to present himself as the awkward, shy, polite boy who had just been through a terrible ordeal. This first impression was far better than being a boy who uses the call button to ask for large favors.

"Is there anything else for you sweetie?" Though the nurse's use of endearing names was starting to grate on Harry's nerves, she was a nice lady. Oddly reminiscent of Mme. Pomphrey.

"Actually," another sheepish grin "Would I be able to see my things? I mean, I know I'm going to be here for a while and I'd just really like to have some of my stuff with me." He complimented his little speech by casting his eyes to the floor.

"Oh, of course. You just wait here, I'll be back in a jiff."

Harry couldn't help but smile to himself as he sunk back into his pillow, the bed now in a comfortable up-right position. The nurse held true to her word, returning with a clear bag in her hands rather quickly. Unfortunately, it was a very small bag. It seemed as if Harry's clothes had been discarded due to the condition they were in. Thinking about it, Harry figured that his clothes had likely been cut from his body by the paramedics.

"Thank you very much." He said with a smile, graciously taking the bundle into his arms.

"You're most welcome Dearie. I'll be back soon to run the tests Dr. Spencer ordered."

"Of course, thank you." Harry smiled again as she left the room for the second time. Honestly, he felt bad for the panic he was going to be giving that poor nurse. But he couldn't afford to be here when she came back. The last thing he needed was for some of his blood to be in the hands of muggle medical professionals. Who knew what his blood was composed of now? Never mind all of the catastrophic scenarios he was formulating in his head that featured his blood as the star player. No, he'd spilled his blood two to many times, he wouldn't be adding a third.

Quickly, Harry ripped open the clear plastic bag full of his belongings. Wallet, watch, belt, house key, spare change from his pockets, great. His glasses were no where to be seen. Perhaps they were assigned to his sire's body or discarded as useless trash. Either scenario was fine with Harry, since he didn't appear to need them anymore. His wand, however, was definitely gone and that was definitely not fine with Harry.

Cursing under his breath, he pulled the IV from his arm without hesitation and swung his legs off the side of the bed. While distraught at his wand's absence, he didn't have time to dwell on it. He needed to get out of this hospital and to do that he needed to assess what he had to work with.

Turning his eyes downward, Harry took in the appearance of his hospital attire. At least he'd been granted pants. Sure, they were flimsy with a gigantic hole in the front and held up by a drawstring, but they made his escape plan a lot simpler. He didn't know how he would have managed without a pair of pants to wear. His top also left something to be desired. A closed back would have been nice. Why hospitals insisted on such indecent clothing Harry wasn't sure.

This would be much less embarrassing if he had his invisibility cloak.

Once again resisting the urge to shake his head, Harry stood up and took a deep breath. "Here goes nothing." He muttered to himself, grabbing his wallet, medical chart and other personal effects in his right hand he slipped the heart monitor from his left finger and ran. He made it out of his room and 4 feet from the door before he heard the single, continuous, beep emitting from the monitor beside his bed. The beeping was instantly accompanied by the loud thumping of sneaker clad feet running down the hallway.

Harry mentally cursed to himself. He didn't have any shoes. Those too must have been ruined in the whole ordeal. Well, it was too late for him to change his escape plan at this point. With the faintest of shrugs he continued moving at a brisk pace down the hallway. He knew he couldn't stop walking, he needed to be as far from his room as possible in the next few seconds. When the nurses recovered from the shock of his empty bed he needed to be far away and blending in.

A frantic nurse suddenly appeared directly in front of Harry, barreling down the hallway as fast as she could manage. As if someone's life depended on it really. Harry forced himself to exhale slowly and step out of her way. To his luck she didn't seem to notice who he was, she simply continued running the last few feet to Harry's room.

Taking this as his cue, Harry put on the speed, flying around the corner the nurse had just appeared from. He was faced with another hallway and blessed with a generic sign displaying the location of various landmarks. Medical imaging to the right, bathrooms straight ahead, recovery was back the way he came and the lifts were to the left. Grinning, Harry nodded his thanks to the sign and bolted to the left.

As he had expected, the lifts weren't very far away and directly beside them were the stairs. The latter was conveniently marked with a bright red "Use in case of emergency" sign. "Dearie!" Harry could hear the nurses calling for him as he opened the door to the stairs. He only heard one voice calling after him, however, the other nurses must have felt uncomfortable shouting for someone whose name they didn't know.

Letting the heavy door close behind him, Harry felt some of the adrenaline leave him, safe for the time being. He immediately began to ascend the stairs before him, traveling up two floors before he deemed it safe to reveal himself again. If he was right, the nurses on this floor would have never seen him before. In fact, they probably wouldn't yet be aware that a patient had gone missing. With a smile on his face, Harry straightened himself up and pushed open the door to the 3rd floor and a new realm of possibilities.

In his mind, Harry had thought up a few possible scenarios regarding where he would end up after his staircase adventure. He'd considered the possibility of finding a recovery floor or a floor full of long term patients. He'd thought of an administrative floor full of offices or ending up on a surgical floor where he would stand out like a sore thumb. Unfortunately, Harry hadn't remotely considered the possibility of emerging in the middle of a maternity ward.

Thankfully, discovering the maternity ward turned out to be a blessing in disguise. It didn't take much wandering for Harry to discover a patient's empty room with a tidily packed duffel bag left unattended. The woman who packed the bag obviously expected to lose a drastic amount of weight after delivering, based on the substantial size difference in the clothing she packed, but that was just as well. Harry found that he fit quite well into this lady's baggy sweat pants and T shirt. He almost looked as though he were wearing his own clothes, though, Dudley hadn't owned a "Thomas the Tank Engine" shirt since they were five.

Once clothed, Harry wasted no more time enacting the final, simple, step to his escape. He opened the window and he jumped.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1. I'm not rewriting this every time. If Harry Potter belonged to me the books would have ended much differently.

Author's Note: I won't talk your faces off this time. Thank you to everyone who reviewed/favorited/alerted me. Seeing those little notifications in my inbox makes me smile.

I was listening to "My Eyes" and "New Day" from the Dr. Horrible soundtrack as I wrote this. So if you feel the Horribleness, well, that's where it came from.

Enjoy ^^

* * *

Chapter 3

Getting to Diagon Alley was much less a hassle than Harry had anticipated. Despite getting a nasty gash on his elbow when fleeing the hospital window, everything had gone surprisingly well. To his good fortune, and dismay, the Knight Bus could be summoned by a roughed up, bloody, shoeless, young wizard waving a twig around. Not about to question his good fortune, Harry readjusted the bandage on his head to cover his scar and the twig made it's way into his pocket for future use.

Thankfully, the twig allowed him into Diagon Alley as well. Oddly enough, not a single witch or wizard gave him a questioning look in regards to his attire. No one in the leaky cauldron even glanced up from their drinks as he meandered past and into the alley. He supposed, after seeing the way wizards poorly emulated muggle attire, that no one cared about an oddly dressed boy coming to the alley from muggle London. That was perfectly fine with Harry.

There were quite a few stops Harry needed to make while he was in Diagon Alley, first and foremost being Gringots. The goblins were as unhappy to see him as ever, though, they handed over his gold without a fuss. Why they continued to work with the wizarding world was beyond Harry. They obviously didn't enjoy doing so.

His second and third stop were stemmed from necessity. A trip to an all hours corner store provided him with some basic healing salve and a hair growth formula which he applied liberally at a public loo. The healing salve was easy enough to administer, rub it on the affected area and that was that. He made sure to get some on his head and his neck in addition to the more recent wound on his elbow. Though, to his surprise, the angry mark on his neck was already closed with a bright pink layer of skin beneath his bloody bandage. His elbow too, was healed rather nicely, already scabbed over. It took a great deal of willpower not to pick at said scab as he rubbed the salve over it. After all, regardless of how quickly his body was healing a little extra help never hurt anything.

The hair growth potion, however, must have been sent to him by Merlin himself. Where were these things all his life and why did Hermione never mention them? Granted, his hair was now longer than he would of liked, but that was nothing a quick cutting charm or pair of scissors couldn't make short work of. Presently, his hair fell in long black waves down to his waist. It looked good he had to admit, however, not even Lucius Malfoy wore his hair this long. It would need to be cut as soon as he had another wand.

With his new objective in mind, Harry grabbed a small, clean, patch of dressing that had been covering his wounds and tied it around his hair at the base of his neck. Making sure to leave some hair loose in the front to cover his scar, he gave himself a once over in the mirror and removed the hastily placed dressing on his forehead.

Gasping at the mirror in shock, Harry's legs gave way beneath him. "There's no way." He muttered to himself, the sound of his own voice providing him with some comfort. "It can't be. It just can't." He shook his head.

Suddenly a loud creaking sound echoed through the quiet room, causing Harry to spring to his feet faster than he'd thought possible. A middle aged wizard appeared in the doorway to the loo. He didn't pay any mind to Harry, scurrying off to the closest stall.

Cursing softly at himself, Harry swore not to be caught off guard again. Returning his gaze to the mirror once again he pulled back his bangs and gaped openly at the cause of his shock.

His scar was gone.

* * *

A few minutes later a long haired, scar free, Harry Potter made his way from the public loo back into Diagon Alley. At least, his body did. His mind was still reeling at his scar's disappearance. After standing in front of the bathroom mirror for some time gawking at his forehead (the other patrons must of thought he was nutters) he was still having a hard time accepting this new development. Not that being rid of the damned scar was a bad thing, it was just strange, and foreign to him.

Despite the scar being gone, Harry just couldn't bring himself to pull his hair back. He left it down in front, covering the patch of skin where his scar used to be. It made him feel more comfortable. Later, when he had some time, he would sit down and make sure he wasn't just hallucinating. The doctor did say he'd lost a great deal of blood after all. Perhaps there was some medical reason for this or he really was going nutters. Either way, keeping his hair down seemed like a good plan.

It was still rather early in the alley as Harry walked through it, the sun just beginning to crest over the horizon. Witches and wizards were slowly stumbling out of their shops to flip the "closed" signs to "open" and set up their displays for the day. Harry couldn't help but notice the lack of cheer about the alley. When he had arrived it was rather dark, however, with the early beams of sunlight beginning to trickle over the shops and stalls it was quite apparent that Diagon Alley wasn't the cheery center of bustling excitement that it once was. It was as though the shops in the alley didn't want to be noticed, not wanting to attract attention like they once had. Peeling paint, sun washed colors, and a general lack of upkeep seemed to be the new style.

The twin's shop, on the other hand, was practically an eye sore. It nearly leaped out at Harry with it's bright colors and animated figures. If such a monstrosity were to appear in muggle London it would take less than a day for petitioners to start harassing the parliament about eyesores and neighborhood integrity, he was sure of it. Then again, Diagon Alley looked like it could use a reprieve from the gloom cast over it by the Dark Lord's return. Weasleys Wizarding Wheeseys was definitely a beacon of hope amidst the shambles of other stores. Albeit a gaudy one.

Finally, Harry saw the sign he was looking for"Ollivander's: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.". He couldn't help but smile softly as the familiar, peeling, golden lettering came into view across the alley. The little shop reminded him of better times, such as his first few days in the wizarding world with Hagrid, his first real friend. This shop was, in a way, his savior. Holding his wand for the very first time made magic real to him. He knew in that moment that he really was a wizard. Harry hated to admit it, but before he'd felt his wand there was an ocean of doubt and disbelief in the back of his mind. How was he supposed to believe that the Dursley's lowly nephew, the frail boy who was not supposed to exist and wasn't deserving of a bedroom, was a wizard?

Now, Harry felt as if the shop were calling him home. This was where his wizarding journey truly began. It was rather fitting that he should have to come here again after his transformation into, well, whatever he was now.

Unlike that first experience with the ancient wand shop, Harry didn't have a moment to himself upon stepping inside. Ollivander was at the front of his store, rummaging around behind the counter. Preparing for the start of another business day, Harry supposed. Whatever the wand maker had been doing was, evidently, rather unimportant as the task was discarded upon Harry's arrival.

"Good morning Young Sir!" Ollivander greeted Harry with a genuine smile on his face and an enthusiasm that seemed out of place after the gloomy Diagon Alley. "Come by for a wand have you?"

"Yes Sir. There was an accident with Quidditch." Harry replied, the lie coming to him quickly. He really should have formulated a better story before coming in here. Hopefully, the old man wouldn't ask too many more questions about the Quidditch excuse. Though, Harry mused, it shouldn't be too hard for him to concoct a realistic Quidditch accident. It wasn't as though he had a flawless flying record, especially when there were Slytherins involved.

"Terrible thing when wands are snapped." Ollivander said, shuffling over to one of the many shelves. He extended his hand slightly, his long, old and veined fingers hovering in mid air as he wandered in his own thoughts. "What sort of wand was it?"

"Ten inches, made of holly and dragon heartstring." This lie flowed from his lips with zero hesitation. He'd always wanted a wand made of dragon heartstring. Not for any reason in particular, but anything to do with dragons was plain cool.

"Holly and dragon heartstring you say..."more of a statement than a question. Ollivander's voice trailed off and soon he disappeared into the labyrinth of shelves and wands behind him. Harry could hear him rummaging around and muttering surprisingly clearly, as if the elderly man were standing right next to him. He tilted his head slightly, listening more intently. He found that hearing the goings on of the elder man was remarkably easy. The soft shuffles and scrapes of Ollivander digging around in his stores were resounding back to him with shocking clarity.

Harry briefly entertained the notion that the Olivanders had been architectural geniuses with the design of their shop. Perhaps they had intentionally positioned their shelves thusly so a customer would be able to hear their questions from the back of the store and save them precious time walking back and forth.

"Teenagers." Ollivander's voice rang into Harry's ears with the same disturbing clarity. "Always mistreating their wands. 'Ooh, my wand had an accident Mr. Ollivander, won't you toss me another?'. Hah, bloody teenagers, none of them understand the respect of the craft, the art of wand making." The old wand master continued to grumble to himself, "taking my work for granted they are."

Harry quirked an eyebrow. Evidently the Ollivanders didn't intend for customers to hear them from the stacks after all. It was becoming painfully apparent to Harry that he was in desperate need of some alone time to assess whatever the hell he had become. While the changes weren't glaringly obvious (aside from his scar of course), he was curious to how many small differences there were to his physical form.

"Here, try this." Ollivander said, emerging from the stacks with an armful of wands and a pleasant smile on his face. Harry decided right then that he wanted to have that same sort of mastery over his expressions. To grumble and complain about a person one moment and genuinely smile at them the next. That was admirable and it was a tool that would be invaluable in the upcoming war.

Moments later Harry had a new wand thrust into his hand and Ollivander had a small pyramid of slender boxes stacked atop his front counter. The wand Harry held was a stunning 13 inch, ash and dragon heartstring. Finally, Ron would shut up about Harry's "bird feather" wand.

Smiling his thanks to Ollivander Harry gave the wand a wave. Quite unlike the random wand flailing he did as a first year, he gave it a short, precise flick. He was also sure to aim the wand at the floor, where it could deal the least amount of damage, should there be any undesirable side effects. He gave it a second wave. A third.

"Nope, not that one." The wand master said, snatching the wand from Harry's hand and replacing it with another. "Well go on, give it a wave."

Harry did as instructed and let out a frustrated groan when nothing happened. He'd heard horror stories from his friends at Hogwarts about the days spent in Ollivander's looking for the perfect wand. Granted, tales told by eleven year old boys concerning time spent shopping with their mothers were bound to be exaggerated. Yet, all tales stem from truth and Harry had a feeling he was in for a long morning.

"Next" another wand shoved into Harry's hand. Another wave. Nothing.

"Now this." Harry grabbed the new wand and waved it. Nothing.

"Hmm." Ollivander said thoughtfully. "Try these. I'll be back."

Harry complied with the request, grabbing the next wand and giving it a wave before setting it down in the discard pile.

Grab. Wave. Place.

Grab. Wave. Place

He had a momentum down now, rhythmically grabbing and waving the wands to a beat in his head. Ollivander wasn't talking this time as he rummaged through the rows of wands, so there were no distractions to interrupt Harry's little groove.

By time the wand maker returned, Harry was nearing the end of the potential wand pile. None of these wands were even close to working. Harry hadn't felt a spark of magic from any of them. Quite honestly, he'd felt a stronger connection with the twig in his back pocket than the expertly crafted tools being presented to him.

"Here my boy, give this one a try." Ollivander said with a smile, removing a long holly wand from a small rectangular box. " Holly and phoenix feather. Not the same phoenix that donated a pair of feathers to some of my most famous wands, but a phoenix just the same. I think this may be a better fit. Don't you?"

Harry and Ollivander stared at each other for a moment, their eyes never breaking contact with the other as the wand slowly exchanged hands from the older man to the younger. A silent understanding passed between them, and Harry confirmed Ollivander's suspicions, stating "Yes, phoenix feather does seem to be my style."

Smirking slightly, Harry gave the new wand a wave. It would be so nice and comforting to finally feel the flow of magic through his body again. To have the surging feeling from his core, his essence of being, flowing through him and out of his wand. To have magic heed his calls once more and fulfill his desires.

But nothing happened.

This wand was just like the others, a dead stick in his hands. No sparks, no gusts of wind, no broken pottery. Just, nothing.

"Oh, this is most peculiar." Ollivander stammered, clasping Harry's failed wand in both hands and placing it back in the box with trembling fingers. "In all my years, never have I failed a customer so horribly." He fumbled with the box lid, after a few unsuccessful tries finally getting it to slide into place. "The last client I couldn't fit a wand for was such a nice lad. Part nymph he was. Terribly unfortunate that most magical creatures can't use wands like wizards. Such a nice lad indeed. Had to turn down his Hogwarts letter. Poor poor boy."

"Magical creatures can't use wands you say?" Harry fought to keep the shock and concern from his voice. "That is unfortunate, whatever happened to the boy?"

"I don't know son, I haven't seen the lad since." He paused for a moment, looking thoughtful, before speaking again. "Tell you what, you go along, complete some other business in the alley which I'm sure you have and come back later. Have a rest, make sure you're feeling magically charged, and I'll set aside some wands for you to try this evening before I close. Does that sound like a plan?"

Harry nodded slightly, realizing what Ollivander was doing for him – giving him an out. There was obviously something wrong with him, and Ollivander was giving him a way to escape the store discretely, to get his other errands done, and figure out what's wrong with him, before coming back. "Of course Sir, perhaps we're both simply having an 'off' day."

"Yes, perhaps."

"Thank you very much Mr. Ollivander, for everything you've done here today."

"Think nothing of it lad. Think nothing of it."


End file.
